How England got more than acquainted with France
by Simple-Minded Idiot
Summary: Where a first meeting eventually leads to more.


F-First fic (technically) in the fandom.

Reviews/crit are very much appreciated. Thank you for spending some time to read this!

* * *

The first time France saw England was in a wedding.

Admittedly, the two of them could've seen each other on several other occasions, but during those times, France would be interested in some other thing and England couldn't be damned to accept that there was anything else in the world that was better than what his country could offer. Though, to be honest, the latter was still true; to England's defense, most countries would have the same mindset.

In their first official meeting, France was wearing the most god-awful of clothing -- which they had already considered to be quite fashionable back in the day, but France would like to think that he'd never really enjoyed wearing such grotesque clothes -- and England was busy being a cross between a toddler and a traveler.

Personally, France thought that England looked like an adorable child with the cape and the bunnies and the petulant-looking frown. And he thought that anyone cute was someone he could like very easily; not to mention he liked children, too. So he, while everyone was busy toasting and watching the rather risqué entertainment, approached the moody child with a bright, friendly smile on his face.

"I think that such performances don't suit the likes of you," he said, hoping that it was a rather okay beginning. The Lord knew that he couldn't gauge how England would react.

"I'm not a kid," England muttered, his eyes still fixed on the form of his king.

"I know." He sat beside England.

"Who are you anyway?"

"I'm France, little England."

"I don't know any France. You aren't even supposed to be here." He suspiciously peered at France.

France merely chuckled -- he felt a wee bit hurt though because, technically, it was supposed to be Normandy and not France, but France liked _France_ better than Normandy so there! -- and said, "They're also my people."

England harrumphed before going back to king-watching.

France sighed and propped his elbow on the wooden table. Dismissed so easily, and by a _toddler_ no less. Well, this would mean that he would have to move on. There was no point in trying to strike a conversation with a surly nation, no matter how young the aforementioned nation was.

But, of course, things didn't end just like that.

* * *

The next time France met England, the latter was surlier than ever. France could understand it though. Wars somewhat made one feel sour and dour, and England _had_ been engaging in too many wars nowadays. Especially what with the dispute that came along with deciding the next king. Not to mention there were also the Danes to feel wary about.

But France thought that England could smile every now and then, too.

Spain smiled a lot and he seemed to be fine no matter what he got himself into. France also did the same thing and he seemed to be holding up pretty well. So perhaps the same would be of England.

Besides, they would be stuck together for a while, and France would rather much like to be in pleasant company.

"I see that we meet again!" he said.

"I _hate_ you," England said before continuing his angry marching. He looked like he was throwing a tantrum.

The smile on France's face faltered a bit. He turned around and asked, "What did I do wrong?"

"You infected him with your Normans!" The saddest part here was that England was actually starting to warm up a bit towards his new king despite the fact that more and more foreigners were being seated at high places.

Oh. Oh, well, France thought that it wasn't his fault that Edward liked the Normans more. It wasn't like England was blameless anyway. They should shoulder this sort of burden together. _Like a family_.

France would be the dependable, suave big brother, and England would be the easily annoyed, cute little brother. France could almost cry with joy at the vision he was getting.

"Wait for me, mon petit frère!" he said in the sweetest voice he could muster.

"Go away!" England shouted.

Things only got more complicated after that.

In fact, when Edward died, France was almost positively sure that England hated him with the passion of a thousand burning suns. Not that he particularly cared, of course, because he knew that he would eventually win England to his side.

William was looking pretty good anyway after a few bumps in the road, so it was only about time.

And did that man storm through England just to get the throne. Each and every one of them were certainly no match against him. However once he was acknowledged and crowned as king by the archbishop, the revolts started.

"Just give up," France said.

"No," England replied with every inch of stubbornness in his tiny body.

"You're so cute." He chuckled as he pinched both of England's chubby cheeks.

England swatted his hands away and glared at him as menacingly as he could. "We're going to be victorious."

In a split second, France could almost believe that little nation; the feeling was gone as soon as it arrived. He patted England's head, knowing that it would irritate the child to no end. "Of course, of course."

"You're _teasing_ me, aren't you, you bastard?"

"Now, now, watch your language."

"We'll win. We'll win and then I'll show you."

England was practically glimmering with determination. And France had every reason to doubt if his own forces would be able to hold back the current resistance of this country. "You're too young for that," he said, effectively masking the troublesome thoughts popping up in his head. Because, really. _What if_ England managed to win?

England turned around and walked away, his cape billowing in the wind.

France thought that for an island, England sure looked majestic.

* * *

But in the end, the English were suppressed and France got a rebellious little brother.

* * *

France laughed as England started chasing him around with a particularly large wooden stick.

"Get back here, France, and give me my independence!" England cried out.

"Non!" France shouted back at him.

And this was basically how they'd managed to live together. For most of the time.

(Sometimes, England would be even more creative and use his magical friends. Sometimes, France would really fight with England. And sometimes -- this happened most rarely -- they would look like a pair of normal siblings.)


End file.
